My Head's in Denial
by French Toast Mafia
Summary: A one-shot staring Haymitch and Katniss, somewhere while they were in District Thirteen. This is also for the 100 Theme Challenge, Theme 1- Love. I'm not great at summaries, so I hope you enjoy what you read!


**My Head's in Denial**

**Authors Note: This is set somewhere in The Mockingjay, I'm not particularly sure where exactly, but somewhere when they were still in District Thirteen. Haymitch has always been my favourite character, so I thought I'd try and show his compassionate side, that I'm sure is hiding somewhere underneath the drunken mentor we all know and love. This is also my first fan fiction, so any reviews (good or bad) I will be highly grateful! **

Haymitch's POV- 

How had I come so caught up in their lives? Katniss and Peeta had squirmed their way in and seem adamant that that they're not going to leave without a fight; I wasn't up for that battle, well at least not without a bottle within my grasp. But was that the only reason I didn't want them out of my life? Or was there something more, more than I would ever admit...? No. Don't go thinking things like that Haymitch. Over the years of sending two District 12 kids to their brutal deaths annually, I had come to a conclusion. Caring about people was like liquor. It was good while it was there, the buzz, being oblivious to the threats that hung over the rest of Panem. But as soon as it was gone, everything would come crashing down, harder and faster than ever, just like a bad hangover. So there was Haymitch Abernathy's theory on why it is better to live your life alone, than with the misery of losing others. I wonder why no one else agrees with me...

Katniss's POV-

"Haymitch, Haymitch!" I yell into his ear as I shake him, attempting to get him to wake. This wasn't going to work. I drag myself deeper into his den; the smell of alcohol clinging to the once fresh air, but that didn't stand a chance against Haymitch's daily drinking routine. As I reach the kitchen, I start to search for a container and run the tap. Making sure the water's icy before filling a cooking bowl, I find myself standing in front of a still unconscious Haymitch, slumped on the couch, still dressed in the clothes of the day before. I take a last glance of him; he looks younger when he sleeps, more relaxed and less stressed, before dumping the numbing liquid over his head. He jumps up and starts waving his knife around wildly; luckily I had retreated to the opposite end of the room, so am out of range of his blind attack.

"What the hell was that for?" His eyes are fixed on my face, as recognition sinks in and he switches the weapon for a stray towel, and starts to dry his soaking body.

"Well, if you weren't such a heavy sleeper, we wouldn't have this problem, and you would be a lot more dry."

"I'm sorry my sleeping habits are so much trouble for you sweetheart," he retorts as he tries to pull off his shirt, but only ending up in a wet, tangled mess. He looks at me through his shirt's arm hole, with his pleading Seam grey eyes. I push myself off the counter with a sigh, and order for him to co-operate. After a few minutes, Haymitch has a clean, well as clean as he gets, shirt on, and I have managed to restore some kind of order to his District Thirteen apartment.

"So, are you going to tell me why you woke me up so rudely, or was it just for your own amusement?" He asks as he sips a glass of water which I had to exchange for the original wine bottle he had in his hands.

"Plutarch wanted to see you about something, but um..." I trail off, not knowing how to continue.

"But...um... what?" he looks at me, expecting for me to finish.

"I wanted to talk to you." I look down at my feet, as they look kinder than Haymitch does.

"Guess I better sit down then."

Haymitch's POV-

"Well, umm... yeah..." I struggle to come up with a proper sentence.

"Wow, thanks Haymitch. Great response."

"I'm sorry. It's not that easy to come up with something to say when you're bombarded with news like that." Information whizzes round my head, sending my brain into a meltdown. I reach to the bottle that is set between me and the girl, as the rim touches my lips, I'm greeted by not even a drop. That was my last bottle! I'll have to steal some off Finnick...

This brings me up short. "Who else knows?" The awaited answer intrigues me. But she just looks at her hands, a red spark lighting up her cheeks.

"I didn't know who else to tell, I...I thought you would know what to do..." she looks at me, a glistening sheen of tears clouding her eyes. She faces the table again, quickly, but not before I catch sight of a single tear escape and roll quietly down her blushing cheeks.

This makes something snap inside of me. I realised where I was, not with an adult, ready to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. I was sat opposite a kid, pulled into the world of rebels and rebellion by the simple will to live. I stand and kneel in front of her, holding her hands tightly in one of mine. The other lifts her chin gently, forcing her to look at my face. More tears have followed the first; I wipe them away with a caress of my thumb.

"Hey, look at me sweetheart. It's ok. Everything is ok. You did the right thing, coming to me. Dont worry. I'll talk to some people, get something sorted, and then we can all talk properly, and do something that's right... for you."

"I just didn't want to let anybody down. Everyone wanted me to be the Mockingjay...and..." she cuts herself off as she bursts into a new round of tears. I want to say so much, how she wouldn't be letting anyone down, and how she has to do what's right for herself, but I just hold her. She clings to me like was a life line as she tries not to drown. After she's calmed down, I lift her up and carry her to the couch that I had occupied earlier. This is quite a challenge, as I'm not in my physical peak, but I manage. She falls swiftly into a seemingly calm sleep. The poor girl must have been fighting off the tiredness, after the pressure of knowledge keeping her awake night after sleepless night. I tuck a ragged blanket over her sleeping form.

As I turn away, off to find Plutarch and see what the hell he wanted, I look back. The girl. The boy. My heart was right, my head was just in denial. I didn't want them out of my life. No. I needed them. But why...?

Love.

I head out the door, off on a quest to find a solution to the newest problems of the Mockingjay. I would sort it out, no matter what it took. I'd promised anyway, and I 'm planning to stick to it.

There's always a first...


End file.
